7th, that force is indestructible (ibid.); 8th, that everywhere we find definite order and succession of events, which seem never to be infringed (ibid.); 9th, that man is not the centre of the living world, but one amidst endless modifications of life (ibid.); 10th, that the ancient forms of existence peopling the world for ages, in relation to human experience, are infinite (ibid.); 11th, that life depends for its manifestation on particular molecular arrangements or any physical or chemical phenomenon (ibid.); 12th, that “the theology of the present has become more scientific than that of the past; because it has not only renounced idols of wood and idols of stone, but begins to see the necessity of breaking into pieces the idols built up of books and traditions and fine-spun ecclesiastical cobwebs, and of cherishing the noblest and most human of man’s emotions by worship, ‘for the most part of the silent sort,’ at the altar of the Unknown and Unknowable” (p. 636).
It appears that Mr. Huxley assumes that these ideas have been of late “implanted in our minds by the improvement of natural knowledge,” that they suffice to “still spiritual cravings,” and that they alone suffice, as “they alone can still spiritual cravings.” Now, the indestructibility of matter is not a new idea implanted in men’s minds by modern science. The ancient and the mediæval philosophers knew it as well as Mr. Huxley, and, if we may be allowed to state a simple truth, even better, as they could give a very good reason of the fact—a thing which would probably puzzle those great men who despise “the products of mediæval thought,” and dedicate themselves exclusively to the acquirement of
the so-called “new philosophy.” That life depends for its manifestation on particular molecular arrangements is, in substance, an old story, as physicists and philosophers of all times taught that not only the manifestation, but also the very existence, of life in the body required a particular organization of matter; so that, to judge by this test, the improvement of knowledge would here consist in the suppression of the soul—that is, in a mutilation of knowledge. That phenomena must have had a beginning is an axiom as old as the world, though some pagan philosophers denied it; and that phenomena must have an end is but an assumption which modern men have hitherto failed to prove. But let this pass.
What a refreshing thought for “stilling spiritual cravings” to know that phenomena must have had a beginning and must have an end! What a consoling idea to think that the earth is but an atom among atoms, whirling no man knows whither! What a subject of delicious contemplation—the infinite regions, where nothing is known but matter and force! And then what a happiness to know that what we call “heaven” is but space filled by an infinitely subtle matter; to know that all matter has weight; to be certain that all matter is indestructible! At such thoughts, surely, the heart of man must wax warm, and spiritual cravings be stilled! Is not this a very strange discovery?
With regard to the idea that “man is not the centre of the living world, but one amid endless modifications of life,” we must confess our ignorance. We thought that such a view had been ere now peremptorily condemned as absurd by all
competent men. But if Mr. Huxley, in a future lay sermon, is able to show that natural knowledge obliges him to reckon crabs, monkeys, and gorillas among his own ancestors, we do not see how much “our spiritual cravings” will be gratified at the thought of such a noble origin. In any case, we shall leave to Mr. Huxley the privilege of enjoying personally all the glory of a bestial genealogy.
And now we must say a word on “the theology of the present, which has become more scientific than that of the past.” The improvement of knowledge, according to our lay preacher, led theology first to renounce the idols of wood and the idols of stone. Very good; yet we may observe that such an improvement of knowledge had its origin in divine revelation, not in experimental science, and that the sect which now preaches the progress of natural knowledge has had no part in breaking the idols either of wood or stone. Then the improvement of knowledge must lead theology to break into pieces—What? “Books, traditions, fine-spun ecclesiastical cobwebs”! And men—that is, Mr. Huxley’s friends—“begin to see the necessity” of breaking all such things. This is but natural. As the outlaw detests the police and the army, and “begins to see the necessity” of breaking both into pieces, so these lovers of matter detest books and traditions on higher subjects, and their “spiritual (!) cravings” cannot be stilled unless they break traditions and books into pieces. At this we do not wonder; but as for “ecclesiastical cobwebs,” what are they? Does Mr. Huxley know any cobwebs but his own—and those, too, not very “fine-spun?”
Next comes “the worship, ‘for
the most part of the silent sort,’ at the altar of the Unknown and Unknowable.” This is the last degree of the climax; and this gives us the measure both of the “new philosophy,” and of the acute mind of the lay preacher. Our “spiritual cravings” cannot be stilled until we have done away with that portion of knowledge which concerns our Lord and Creator. Our scientific Titans do not want a Master and a Judge. The improvement of knowledge must lead us back to the time when a few fools worshipped at the altar of an unknown God; and, since the absurdity of this pretension had not the merit of being modern, it became necessary to show the high degree of ignorance which may be united with the improved natural knowledge by proclaiming that the noblest and most human of man’s emotions is cherished by a worship which is a moral, not to say physical, impossibility.
We have now reached the bottom of the “new philosophy”; we are edified about the improvement of natural knowledge; we know what is aimed at in the lay sermons on the advisableness of improving natural knowledge; and we thank Mr. Huxley, not without a deep sense of melancholy, for his open profession of infidelity, which will very likely make harmless all lay sermons which he may venture to preach henceforward. At one thing only we are astonished; that is, that the champion of such a cause—a professor—has not been able to deal with his subject except by a strain of whimsical assertions. Is it necessary for us to teach a professor that mere assertions are good for nothing in science? A professor like Mr. Huxley should have understood that, in the case